The end of the journey
by Zauberer S
Summary: Faramir thinks he´s ready to say goodbye to his brother (Warning: SLASH)


TITLE: The end of the journey  
  
AUTHOR: Zauberer S.  
  
EMAIL: zaubererslyth@yahoo.es  
  
FEEDBACK: Please, please, please.  
  
RATING: PG for references to incest  
  
PAIRING: Faramir/Boromir, Faramir/Eowyn, and Aragorn worshipping.  
  
SUMMARY: Faramir thinks he´s ready to say goodbye.  
  
DISCLAIMER: If I could own some characters from The Lord of the Rings it would be the four spoken of in this fic. But alas, I own nothing, Tolkien and New Line do.  
  
A/N: This is a translation from my own fic in spanish (I´m translating myself! How nabokovian is that?) which is a part of an ongoing series about the end of the trilogy. I decided to translate this in honour of all those Faramir/Boromir shippers. There is never enough of FaraBoro! Specially dedicated to the newborn and wonderful site Sons of the Steward.  
  
A MILLION THANKS to ladyeclectic for helping me beta the fic.  
  
--------- WARNING: This fic includes references to incest -------------  
  
...  
  
THE END OF THE JOURNEY  
  
...  
  
Time has come to say goodbye.  
  
For a long time war and its sorrow have delayed this day. For many day(DAYS) it was comforting to have things to think about and busy myself with, just so I didn´t have to think about him.  
  
I´ve come this far, this place from my dream, believing I was ready. Perhaps I was wrong. The wound still bleeds.  
  
How much time would it take to erase these memories? But I feel them growing stronger and clearer by each day, the memory strengthening instead of giving me peace and rest.  
  
Because I can still feel the touch of his skin as if he were touching me now with his fingers.  
  
And I can still remember the taste of his mouth as if we were kissing again.  
  
I have to say goodbye, now, in times of peace, and yet I can´t. My strength leaves me when I think about him, the breath of the Shadow returns to me, like the sword of a Nazgul piercing me with its cold blade.  
  
I´ve returned to the river, awake, healed, in a world safe from Evil.  
  
The water runs with a lively singing, ancient tunes, frozen in spring. My breathing quickens as I reach the shore. The trees tilt with the morning breeze, they talk to me, they call me, trying to comfort me.  
  
My wounds have been healed, but my body aches, and there´s no hope for this torture to end.  
  
His image, golden and invincible, one day in summer, practising with the sword in the court, comes back to haunt me. Beautiful as a wild animal, he turns around and greets his little brother, who hides behind some dusty old piece of parchment, as always.  
  
"Come here, little bro," he would say, "practise with me."  
  
But I stood still, amazed, taken by his beauty. He noticed this and looked at me with his eyes on fire, with that light that burned before me at night, when he covered my skin with flaming caresses.  
  
" I cannot say goodbye to you," I whisper to the river, and it answers in the sound of stones against each others.  
  
My cheeks are wet, and so are my hands.  
  
Now how I wish to have died fighting in Osgilliath or in the fire that my father burned out of his insane love for me. How I long to be consumed by that or any other fire, like wood, which know that once cut there is no higher fate than the flames.  
  
Sometimes I miss my brother so much I cannot breath.  
  
Strong arms reach for me and a head rest on the back.  
  
"Is this it?" she asks "Is this the place from your dream?"  
  
All I can do is nod, my voice long surrended to tears. A pale and thin hand rests over my heart, making sure it still beats.  
  
"I am thankful for letting me come with you."  
  
Were it not for her I might decide to sink in this river forever, wanting to reach the bottom, behind all the falls, to meet Boromir.  
  
I lay my hand over hers, and the world is a bit less dark.  
  
"It hurts still. I do not know when this wound will heal".  
  
Eowyn holds me tighter, she will not allow the darkness tear me from her side.  
  
"My lord... It will never heal. There´s a price we have to pay, the ones who have loved to well."  
  
"And which price would that be?"  
  
"Never regretting".  
  
Never regretting... that´s the hardest thingof all. Neither I nor she will ever know how to stop loving the those who left, those who can´t love us back. Like waves, that can´t help crashing to rocks, even though they know it´ll kill them.  
  
The waiting never ceases. I still wait for his boat to come, its journey from death leading him back to me, back to my safe arms. I still wait for the body to surface, so I could hold his head in my lap and weep bitter tears over his eyes, until he opens them, and wakes, rescued by my call. And Boromir would raise his fingers to my lips, the very moment my cry turned into laughter, and the I would kiss his hair, his temple, returning all the warmth the river took from him.  
  
There is no hope, and yet I wait here.  
  
"My lord, you´re frozen."  
  
She clutches my chest, and I know she tries to anchor me to life. Eowyn, who has many doubts as me, who fears the same weakness within her. She, frail inside, is the one to offer me her hand, may I stumble across our path someday. I am frozen but she is not much warmer, her faith is not stronger than mine.  
  
She takes my hand and traces circles in my palm, she studies it, and with her fingers travels a million of tiny scars.  
  
"How did you get this?"  
  
Some other day I would have lied, I would have told half the story, or kept silence. But here, now, I don´t have the will, and I don´t have the might. I don´t have the strength to lie, to hide, the strength to cry or fight the tears.  
  
"I... I just wanted to pick some berries. Boromir liked them so much when he was young. But there were thorns. Many thorns. There was so much blood I thought I was going to faint. After my cuts had been cleaned and tended Boromir took my hands in his hands and... and kissed them. Over and over.  
  
Recalling this moment I can feel the fire in my skin set alight again, my hands burn like then. I´m shaking. To me comes a very clear picture of my brother kneeling, his hands approaching mine, his lips nearer inch by inch. I was just a kid but each of those kissed was carved in my soul with more might and pain than any of the scars.  
  
The flames danced over the grave lines of his face, serious and full of emotion. He stood like that for a brief eternity, his knee on the ground and his lips on my hand. When he raised his head I saw an odd darkness inside his grey eyes and I recognized it as the same darkness that nested in my chest, like a worm, eating everything inside.  
  
That day I discovered what hope meant. My dear scars... no one knows you´re open again, just because you don´t bleed.  
  
But Eowyn, she is tall and parts my hair, my curls, and kisses my neck.  
  
"And here? He touched you here?" She kisses again "He kissed you here?"  
  
There´s a longing in her voice, as if one life were not enough and she wanted to live another through me. She wants to be Boromir kissing me, or me, kissed by Boromir.  
  
"Yes, so often I know not how many times. But I remember one day of rain and thunder, and we were in the forest, so we held each other to scare the cold away. And he bent and placed a kiss in my wet skin, right there. His lips were frozen, and water drops poured from his hair, and he kissed my neck until I turned to face him, so he could kiss my lips instead."  
  
I barely hear my own words, taken away to a distant place, and she may be following. Now I know for certain how it´s going to be, how I´m going to end up telling everything, speaking to her of each detail, each caress, all those mornings I woke in brother´s arms, the skin dry and worn, wrapped around Boromir´s chest.  
  
I will confess everything, and it will torture us both.  
  
"I am a villian..." murmured through tear salted lips.  
  
She made me turn, grabbing my wrist, making me meet her eyes, her golden and icy beauty. My face between her hands, her fingers on my lips, and I don not deserve this woman, yet I know I am the one who would make her happy.  
  
"My lord, I told you once... Nothing you can say could make me love you less."  
  
"And I replied in kind."  
  
She nods but is covered by a cloak of shame, her glance low and shy. Because with those words our hearts began to beat together, with an equal pain. We stand head to head, my fingers through her hair, distracted, ribbons of sun in my hands, soft, damp by the proximity of the river.  
  
The river, in which a moment ago I desired to sink.  
  
"Eowyn..." I say her name as if it was going to deliver me from evil, "you must understand this. I thought I could never love again, and just longed to fall in the battlefield to forget Boromir, or to be reunited with him. And then one day, when I believed the fever would drag me to the shadows... I suddenly opened my eyes. And what did I see?"  
  
Her glance was brightened with something sadder than tears.  
  
"The same I saw, back in Medusel."  
  
I nod. It was so different and so alike to my love for Boromir, the feeling that took over me that fateful day in the Houses of Healing. That first look, that first beat of a heart coming back to life.  
  
"Yes, my lady, the same you saw." And someday she will tell about her moment, about her look, about her beat, and the cause would be the same for us both."I opened my eyes and saw my king, he for whom the White Tree of my city waited long years. And in his smile I understood there was always a bit of love left after all, and thanks to him I can love you now."  
  
She hugs me, I feel her hug and it moves me, like sunlight in winter, which does not warm but shines. She holds me, she holds him, she holds Boromir. Her body, strong and slender, seems to shrink in my arms. For a while we are content listening the secret whispers of the river flow, the rustling of branches bending over the water. We don´t dare to move, afraid of losing this connection, this moment of understanding and mercy.  
  
"We won´t ask for forgiveness, my lady. We will speak of Aragorn and our love for him would grow stronger, we will go to Minas Tirith and in seeing him we will feel our love for him reborn. We can´t help it, yet we won´t regret it."  
  
So then an image returns to me, the one of my brother practicing with his sword. He taught me the movements when I was too young and too clumsy to follow him, he put his hands on my hips to guide me and my whole body trembled. I was twelve and still sharing my chambers with Boromir, and I lost many hours of sleep listening to his breathing, through shadows studying how his chest rose and fell rhythmically. I hated myself for that. Many years after, long after our first kiss I still hated myself, so much that my stomach ached, as if bleeding. I swore I would never touch my brother again, but then my hand reached for him again, because being apart was more painful.  
  
Those lessons, those days under the sun are a part of today´s darkness. One cannot exist without the other. Each kiss I gave my brother is a kiss I will take from Eowyn, Boromir´s strong hands over my skin are the caresses I will cover my with with.  
  
And between us... that first look in Aragorn´s eyes, his weary smile, his hand upon my temple, healing me and burning me. Between Eowyn and me those haunted eyes, not so different from my brother´s, embracing the sadness of Men, and a sweetness I never knew till I met him. In that moment I would have walk to Hell itself had he asked. I would still.  
  
The river calls me, and I turn to face it. Eowyn rests on my lays again, she wraps her arms around me and her hand in over my heart one more time.  
  
"Do you still hope for your dream to become true? Are you still waiting for Boromir to descend through the river?"  
  
I can almost see him, blue skin poisoned by death, and serene like he could never be while he was alive. Should he pass by my side, even this very moment, I will walk away from the shore, swimming to him, to drag the boat to land or flow down with it.  
  
"Are you ready to say goodbye?"  
  
I see him, I see him in the river. Like a dream, like my dream, only that when he reaches me, his sword broken, pushed by the water from a storm, he opens his eyes.  
  
In my dream he is alive.  
  
He opens his eyes and looks at me. He is so beautiful he takes my breath away. Like always.  
  
And there is only one sincere answer to the question asked by the woman I love.  
  
Am I ready to say goodbye to Boromir? I turned to her, the river behind me.  
  
"No."  
  
...  
  
...  
  
...  
  
A/N: I blame my love for the FaraBoro on David Wenham and Sean Bean, and I don´t blame Eowyn the least for falling in love with two most wonderful men in Middle-Earth (tough she should have paid more attention to my poor Grima). 


End file.
